In You I Can Trust
by Rheessa
Summary: On his way home from work Marco makes a not entirely legal purchase. Prequel to 'Failed Negotiations' drabble. Warning: STORY HAS MULTIPLE TRIGGERS. No pairing. Set as complete, will add chapters when feel like it.
1. Chapter 1

**Wassap, people!**

**After publishing the last drabble I had a chorus of people telling me to do more. This is the prequel to 'Failed Negotiations'. Now, I have to warn you, this story has_ MULTIPLE TRIGGERS._ I do not want to spoil anything by naming them, but people who read the drabble should have a vague idea about what they are. Again: **

**!_WARNING FOR MULTIPLE TRIGGERS!_**

**My beta, lunarshores, said that this story is very different story, both for me as an author and for the fandom in general. I think I agree with her - so far I haven't read anything similar. There is also no pairing in this story. The plot was vaguely inspired by anime Black Lagoon (mostly guns and the city).**

**Disclaimer: definitely not mine.**

**Song of the idea: it wasn't easy to find a song that was depressing enough or depicted the idea well enough. However, the song _You And I_ by_ t.A.T.u._ had lyrics that had the needed degree of depression and a couple of lines that described the situation to the t. Name of the story also came from one of their songs.**

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After they finally came to an agreement, Marco got his money and left the dark bar on the outskirts of one of most dangerous cities in the world. The deal was simple enough, and he didn't even have to press for money – the client paid the price eagerly and very willingly. Maybe it had something to do with a visit from Marco's division last week after which the client needed an emergency visit to a hospital.

It was late October, but the temperature was nice. If there was one thing Marco liked about this city was constant warmth – not even in February did the temperature drop below 15C. As to other things in this city... The blond was at least sure that he wouldn't be able to live in a normal city somewhere in US or Europe after living here for such a long time. He wasn't even surprised when a shady guy came up to him with a smile lacking a couple of teeth.

"Hey, brozer, I have a thing, yu wanna buy, yes?"

"It depends," Marco openly placed his hand on his SW1911.

"Hey, no scam, we friends, yes? Come, I show you, yes?" The man waved his hands dismissivly, smiling with whatever was left of his teeth.

After some consideration Marco nodded, noting in the back of his mind to forbid his division to send people for unplanned visit to a dentist – the look was just way too unaesthetic.

The man led him into an alley behind the bar to a car. It looked like an old American muscle car, but Marco wasn't sure – cars weren't his area of expertise. The man went to the trunk, and Marco quickly pulled out his gun and pointed at the man.

"Slowly," he warned him; the blond wasn't a fool; he knew there were a lot people stupid enough to try to take his head.

"Yes, we friends, no need for guns, yes?" the man smiled, slowly opening the trunk.

At first Marco thought it was empty, so he carefully moved forward, wary of his surroundings. The man kept looking at him with a wide smile, motioning to the trunk. When he moved closer, he saw that there was a person curled up inside the trunk. This wasn't the first time Marco was offered to buy a human being – he was well aware of the slave market in this city. It was the only area of underworld that Whitebeard refused to have anything to do with.

Normally Marco would just walk away, but he met the round, horrified eyes of the person in the trunk. It seemed like it was ages ago he was that very person in a trunk, staring with terrified eyes at Oyaji. He had been younger than this person, who, after a closer look, turned out to be a young man in his late teens. Oyaji had pitied Marco, he's spent the last of his money on him...

Marco finally broke eye contact with the boy in the trunk and turned to the seller.

"How much?"

"Interested, yes? He iz veri talented, yes?"

"How much?"

"How much vood yu give for him?"

"I am not joking, how much?" Marco pointed his gun on the man, showing that he was not in a bargaining mood.

"How much do yu hav on yu?" the man asked, sensing that Marco was about to put a bullet in him and take the boy for free.

"Take him out of the trunk," the blond ordered.

"Yu wanna look, yes? Good quality, all in place, yes?" the man nodded eagerly, roughly pulling the boy out of the trunk. Despite layers of grime, Marco could see numerous bruises on the thin frame of the boy. He looked malnourished and weak, barely able to stand on his own with his hands and feet tied. The man moved to rip off the only clothing the boy wore, probably to show that 'all in place', but Marco kicked the hand away.

"Don't, get away from him," he ordered, gun firmly pointing at the man's head. He threw the suitcase with money from this evening's deal at the man. The man caught the suitcase and hastily took a peek inside it. His eyes became round at the amount of money in the case and he looked up at Marco with slight uncertainty in his eyes. "Scram," the blond ordered, and the man quickly closed the trunk, got into his car and drove off, afraid that Marco would change his mind.

After the seller was out of sight, the blond put his gun in its holster and took out his knife. The young man tried to move away from him, but Marco caught his arm and made quick work of the binds on the boy's hands and feet. Leaving the kid on the streets wasn't an option, he'd be dead before Marco was out of sight. The blond took off his jacket and wrapped it around the boy's shoulders, who flinched away from the touch, clearly afraid he would be be hurt.

"Come on, kid, let's go," Marco said, lightly pushing the boy in the direction of his car. The young man took a step, but stumbled and almost fell. The blond growled in annoyance, wishing that he put a bullet through the seller, but it was too late now. With a sigh he gathered the kid in his arms, lifting him without any trouble.

The boy tried to struggle, but as weak as he was he could have tried to move a concrete wall with the same amount of success. The blond easily carried him to his car, opened the door and put the boy in the passenger seat.

Marco quickly moved around the car and took the driver's seat, and the boy in the passenger seat tried to make himself as small as possible. With a sigh, Marco took out his phone, dialled Oyaji and started the car.

"Marco? How was the deal?" Whitebeard asked, and the blond sighed again.

"It went as planned," he answered, driving out to a bigger street.

"Why do you sound so down?"

"I don't have the money," Marco admitted with yet another sigh.

"What happened to it?" Oyaji asked, surprise evident in his voice – it was a first, Marco always got the money.

"I kinda bought something... or rather someone... You can take the money from my account, there is enough to cover the deal."

"Don't worry about the money, it's not like it'll bankrupt me," the old man chuckled. "So, who did you buy?"

"A boy, looks like he's in his late teens. He..." Marco bit the inside of his cheek. "He reminded me of when we first met..."

"Is that so?" Whitebeard laughed. "I always knew you were a big softie!"

"Where do you think I get it from?" Marco smiled.

"Touché. Do I get to meet him?"

"I don't know, he's in really bad shape. I'll try to make him talk later, maybe he has a family he'd like to return too or something like that..."

"We both know the odds that that very family sold him," Whitebeard sighed. "Take as long as you need."

"Thanks, Oyaji. Can you send someone over with food? I was going to go shopping after the deal, but I don't think I'll be able to do that."

"I'll send Haruta over: she looks the least threatening."

"Thanks. I'll talk to you later."

"Be safe."

"Yeah, you too," Marco said and hung up. "What's your name?" he asked, turning his head slightly to the boy next to him.

The boy didn't answer, so the blond turned his head fully to see if he was at least conscious. He was met with the same horrified wide eyes he saw in the trunk. Marco guessed it was too much to ask of him just then. After all, Marco did just buy him, and he had no idea about what kind of person Marco was.

"My name is Marco, I am first division commander of Whitebeard family," he introduced himself. "You've heard the name, right? If not mine, then Oyaji's?" There was no response whatsoever. "We are going to my place, I was supposed to report to Oyaji but now there's nothing to report with... Do you understand the language?" Marco suddenly realised that maybe the boy didn't speak English. He tried talking in a couple of other languages he knew but the result was the same. "Seriously, can you at least nod or shake your head?" Marco asked in every language he knew. No response came. Another possibility came to the blond's mind – maybe the boy was deaf. What if the boy was deaf AND couldn't read? Marco sighed, depressing thoughts circulating in his head. If the boy was deaf and illiterate, things were going to be so much harder...

Marco's apartment was in one of the better districts of the city and in one of the better apartment complexes – the rent was high, not for the space, but for heavily armed guards at the entrances. He had to stop for id check and to wait for the guards to open the gate to the underground garage. The guards didn't ask any questions about his companion but looked at him hard enough to memorize him in case he happened to kill Marco, and they had to explain what happened to Whitebeard himself.

Marco drove to his spot deep inside the garage. After turning off the engine, he turned to look at his companion. The expression was still the same. It was exhausting to live in constant fear, Marco knew.

"Come, we're home," Marco said as he got out of the car. After waiting for five minutes outside the car, he walked around and opened the passenger door. "Seriously now? Come on."

No reaction. The boy just kept staring at him with terrified eyes. Marco sighed and forced himself to smile.

"Come," he said in a lower, kinder voice, stomping on his own crankiness, tiredness and frustration. He once was in a similar situation, but that was so long ago that he completely forgot what he felt back then. Whatever he felt now, tired or annoyed or pissed, it didn't matter. It wouldn't do any good to show that to the boy, that would only scare him more.

When nothing changed, he scooped the boy into his arms and closed the door with his foot. Marco locked the door with remote control and carried his companion to the elevator. The garage was void of cars save for Marco's because most deals were made at night, and the residents were busy doing business. If a tourist were dumb enough to visit this city, they would be surprised that shops opened after noon and closed at six in the morning. The perfect time to commit a crime against criminals living in the city was in the morning.

They rode elevator in silence with Marco slightly irritated to learn that pressing elevator buttons with his elbow wasn't one of the things he was good at. They got out on the seventh floor, and Marco decided to just walk up a flight of stairs instead of trying to negotiate with the elevator. He realised too late that he also had a door with two locks to open.

After finally defeating the stubborn door, Marco entered his apartment, locked the door behind him (with much more ease, if he said so himself) and put down the kid. He allowed the boy to get acquainted with new surroundings while he took off his shoes. When Marco took off one of his shoes, the kid suddenly bolted to the kitchen to their right. It took Marco all of two seconds to get over his initial shock and understand why the kid went there. He badly hoped he was wrong, running after the boy, but he wasn't. He got there just in time to grab the blade of a kitchen knife mere centimetre from the kid's neck.

Blood slowly dripped from Marco's hand onto the boy's torso as they stared at each other.

"Let the knife go," the blond said sternly, hoping that the boy, deaf or not, would read his facial expression and tone. "Now."

The doomed look in the boy's eyes made Marco almost consider allowing the boy to commit suicide, but he was a material person, and the boy in front of him cost twenty thousand US dollars. The blond could have been a secret softie, but he wasn't soft enough to let twenty thousand go down the drain just like that.

"Let it go," he repeated.

The boy let out a whimper, so soft that Marco wasn't sure if he actually heard it. His arms slumped, leaving the knife in the blond's hand. Marco tossed the knife into the sink, bowed down and picked the boy up over his shoulder.

With another sigh (if Izou's superstitions were true, on this very evening he got rid of his happiness for at least ten years forward) he went through his apartment, getting rid of the second shoe on the way. His jacket fell off the boy when he bolted to the kitchen, which suited Marco's purpose just fine.

He entered the bathroom and put the boy down in the shower. The kid immediately curled into a ball, trying to look as small as possible. Figuring that the boy won't go anywhere with him blocking the exit, Marco took out his first aid kit and looked at his left hand. The cuts on his fingers seemed shallow, so he just disinfected the cuts and put a plaster on every one of them. Then he put on a rubber glove on the wounded hand and taped the hem with silver tape. Now he could proceed with the planned activity.

Marco took off his socks and entered the shower – by keeping the clothes on he hoped to show to the boy that he wasn't interested in exploiting his body. He took down the shower nozzle and turned on the water, pointing it away from the boy and waiting until he could adjust temperature so that it's not too hot but not too cold either. After making sure of that, he pointed the nozzle at the kid, starting with his legs. The boy flinched away from the water making Marco wonder what the hell they did to this poor child. His own memories were pretty vague now after many years, the most painful ones definitely suppressed.

"I am really sorry, but you'd have to bear with it," he said, moving the nozzle to wet the boy's head. "I promise you, you will feel better once you get cleaner. Just keep your eyes closed, so that you don't get soap in them."

He tried to be as gentle as possible, but it wasn't helping much – he still had to use some force to pry away boy's limbs in order to clean them. On the boy's left arm he found a tattoo he first mistook for a stubborn patch of dirt. He kept scrubbing it until he saw clear patterns and realised that to get that away he'd have to scrub through the boy's skin. The tattoo was simple, capital letters ASCE with crossed out S.

"A...ce? Ace?" he said out loud, and the boy jumped, trying to get farther into the corner of the shower. "Is that your name? Ace?" The boy winced again at the sound of the name. "Well, nice to meet you, Ace. At least now I know you're not deaf, so there's that. Come on now, raise your head, I need to wash your face." Marco kept mumbling to himself, mostly asking the boy different questions, and when there wasn't any answer, he just came up with the answer himself. It sounded like he's gone mad, having a conversation with an imaginary friend. Marco didn't care how he seemed though, he still hoped to get some kind of response from the kid, be it lashing out on him or crying or anything at all besides the scared look that seemed glued to the boy's face.

The procedure of getting Ace clean took almost an hour. By that time the only dark patches on the boy's skin were bruises and the tattoo on his arm. With the dirt out of the way Marco had to admit that after some feeding and rest the kid would actually be pretty cute. At least the potential was there. He wrapped a clean towel he didn't get a chance to use today around the boy and led him out of the bathroom.

Then Marco actually realised that he had no place for the boy to stay. To arrange that he needed to let go of the kid, and if he did that he was pretty sure he'd get another suicide attempt. The blond stopped to think about his options, his arm firmly holding the boy next to him. Finally he decided to try to reason with Ace.

"I would really like to let you go now but we both know what you are going to try to do when I release you. Let me make this clear for you – I will not let you kill yourself. If I have to, I will handcuff you to myself, I am not above that," just in case Marco repeated it in several languages. It didn't look like Ace was even listening – he was looking around wildly as if searching for something. "I know you can hear me, and I want you to nod that you understood me, or I will handcuff you to me, and I will drag you wherever it is that I need to go."

Marco said everything again in different languages slowly. Finally Ace stopped looking around and turned to him with the same look that Marco was getting tired of. The fact that he was soaked and that his clothes stuck to him uncomfortably did little to help Marco stay calm and composed. He felt really bad about the boy's situation, but if he wasn't about to show any signs of understanding he would just knock him out and do everything he needed to do, including getting out of soaked jeans.

"Can you just nod?" Marco asked tiredly. In English. And a freaking miracle happened – the kid actually nodded. "Thank you," he said with a sigh, and he let the boy go.

For the second time that evening Ace bolted, but this time it wasn't the kitchen. For whatever reason he chose Marco's office. The blond followed him just in case – maybe he left some kind of weapon there and forgot about it, but he was worried for nothing. He chose to believe that the boy heeded his warning because this time he didn't try to take his own life. Instead Ace chose to hide under big and heavy writing desk made of dark wood.

"Whatever..." Marco muttered, leaning down to pick an empty dustbin from under the desk. Into that dustbin, he put everything he could possibly think could be used for self-harm – pens, scissors, anything with a wire (the lamp and the laptop he had to get out of the room while keeping one eye on the table), any small objects one could choke or suffocate on, anything sharp, anything made of glass and anything possibly poisonous. It wasn't easy – he never thought of it that way before, but his office could be an illustration for 1001 ways to kill yourself in a home environment.

Finally deeming the room Ace-proofed, he waddled to his bedroom, taking the dangerous dustbin with him. He just prayed to every god possible that the kid won't start eating paper and choke on it because getting rid of all the paperwork and all the books would be extremely troublesome.

Just when he finally took off his soaked clothes, Marco heard the front door unlocking. There was some rustling and some muttering and then the intruder closed the door and announced themselves:

"Alrighty, I'm here, where's our new littlest bro? Pineapple, show yourself!"

"I'm in the bedroom, chibi," Marco called, quickly dressing himself in a pair of blue shorts and a dark purple t-shirt.

"What are you doing in there, you perverted pineapple?" It had been a long time since Haruta had demoted Marco from some kind of higher, better being to a simple older brother. Sometimes the blond missed the respect he had back then.

"Changing," he grumbled when his sister burst into the room.

"Where's littlest bro?" she asked eagerly.

"Take a guess," Marco went past her into the bathroom to hang up his clothes to dry.

"Well, I don't see him anywhere... Don't tell me he's under the rehabilitation desk?" With the loss of the status of a higher being Marco also lost any kind of privacy – Haruta had a nasty habit of walking in without knocking, which included the bathroom and even the toilet.

"Rehabilitation desk?" he asked with raised eyebrows.

"You know, your writing desk? The one I used to live under when Pops dumped me on you when he just found me?"

"Oh, right... Yeah, he's under the rehabilitation desk."

"Then he'll be fine! I'll go say hi."

"You are not going anywhere except for out," Marco caught his sister by the scruff of her shirt and pulled her towards the front door.

"But I wanna go say hi to the littlest bro! Let me go, you grumpy old pineapple!" When her attempts to free herself didn't work, Haruta allowed to drag herself to the front door. Almost out the door she yelled loudly: "WELCOME TO THE FAMILY LITTLEST BRO!"

Marco literally had to throw his sister out of the apartment, which was easier said than done. He loved all his siblings, he really did, but he had enough strange people for one evening. With a sigh he took the bags left by the door to the kitchen, after making sure that the front door was really locked.

Two bags had the groceries he'd needed – spaghetti, cheese, vegetables, meat... The third had different content though – it was full of clothes that were definitely too small for Marco. At the bottom he found a teddy bear, no doubt a prank Haruta thought to be hilarious. Everything was brand new, so Marco quickly got rid of the tags, chose a pair of simple black boxers, black shorts and red t-shirt and went to the new resident of the 'rehabilitation desk'. With the teddy bear, of course – he would be extremely happy to tell Haruta it's fate soon.

He put everything by the desk and left the room, intently listening for any indication of the fate of the stuffed animal. Figuring that the boy was too tired to show his anger or frustration even to a teddy bear, Marco went to get the futon he kept in case any of his siblings decided to spend the night at his place. Since it was already equipped with a pillow, blanket and set of sheets, the only thing Marco had to do was to introduce the concept of futon to the new resident of the apartment.

The clothes were exactly where he left them, however the toy was slightly displaced. Figuring that he got in the way of dressing, Marco apologised, not really daring to move into what now was Ace's territory. One thing that Oyaji used to tell him was that if Marco wanted to be friends with someone, animal or human, he should never invade their safe-house. The boy chose the desk as his safe-house, so Marco had to respect the boundaries. The problem with that was that he wasn't sure if Ace knew what a futon was.

"I need you to get out of there for ten seconds." Since previous negotiations were successful, Marco decided to try that again. "After I make your bed, you can spend as much time there as you like. I won't force you to do anything you don't want to do. I just need you to listen to me this once."

The boy was eyeing the blond warily – the expression changed slightly from the scared one that seemed glued to his face to one that still held enormous amount of fear but was more guarded than terrified. If Marco was to take a wild guess, he would think that Ace was trying to make sense of him because the treatment he was receiving now wasn't the one he was used to, and he was wondering how long it would last.

Trying to prove that he wasn't going to hurt Ace, Marco moved away to the door to leave enough space for the boy to manoeuvre. Almost by the door he sat down, pointedly looking at the floor. Putting the boy on the same level as a wild cat he would try to befriend, Marco kept the things very primal – he made himself smaller and looked away; a direct stare would be considered a threat or a challenge.

He could feel Ace's stare on him, but he kept his head down despite being curious if the boy even blinked. They stayed like that for about fifteen minutes; the kid's eyes didn't leave him for a second. At first, Marco studied the floor, but that got boring quickly, so instead he started prodding the rubber glove on his cut hand – the insides were painted red so he assumed that the plasters didn't hold. He wasn't very worried about it – the cuts were mostly shallow, and he did disinfect them.

Marco was about to give up on the introduction of futon to his guest when the said guest moved hesitantly. The blond had to force himself not to look at Ace who was slowly leaving the comforts of the rehabilitation desk. The boy slowly moved to Marco's right, into a corner between a wall and a bookshelf.

After waiting for the boy to settle there, Marco crept just as slowly towards the desk, doing his best to not to look at the kid. He fixed the futon as quickly as he could and moved back just as slowly; while he was making up the bed, he listened intently to whatever Ace was doing, but except for shifting his position, the boy didn't move much.

Almost by the door Marco stood up and looked at his guest. Ace was crouching in the corner, the towel wrapped tightly around him. The boy was clutching that towel as if it was his sole shield against Marco and the world. It was going to take a lot of time and work to make the kid trust him, but the blond was up for the job – his pride and slight competitiveness wanted to know if he could manage to do the same thing Oyaji did too many times. Haruta did not count – she was dumped on him after Oyaji worked some magic on her and wanted to integrate her into the family. She talked, albeit hesitantly, and was only afraid of him for about a week. It didn't look like that would be the case here though.

The blond left his office only to go to the bathroom once again to get rid of the glove and change the plasters on the cuts. He could hear Ace shuffle in the office - it almost sounded like he was rearranging the futon. Marco hoped that this was the case – he suddenly realised that sheets could be a really good noose for hanging someone.

When he was satisfied with hid medical skills, Marco left the bathroom, immediately looking into the office, only to see that the kid used the blanket to create kind of a curtain, hiding him from sight. Still the makeshift curtain did not reach the floor for good two hands width so, after dropping to the floor and peeking from afar, he could see some movements under the table.

Smiling at the creativity, the blond went to the kitchen and got a new bottle of water and a couple of apples and went to put them right outside the curtain. He didn't trust the kid not to use a plate for his suicidal ideas and the only food he could serve without a plate were fruits, so apples were his first choice. He'd have to make a call to get some disposable kitchenware because real utensils were way too dangerous.

"So, here's something for you to chew on – since you look kind of thin I think apples are a good start. There is also a bottle of water here," Marco opened the bottle halfway and closed it again, not too tight. "First door on the left it the toilet, I'll leave the lights on and open the door so you won't miss it. The room across from this one is my bedroom – if there is anything you need – feel free to just wake me up." Marco paused for a moment, thinking what more should he mention. "Also keep in mind that attempting a suicide is not an acceptable behaviour in this apartment. If I catch you doing that again, I am not above chaining you somewhere you won't be able to do that. That would be the only rule you'd have to follow while you live here."

The blond stared at the unmoving curtain for a moment.

"Remember, silence is a sign of agreement. I will be up for another couple of hours, if there is anything you need just make some kind of sign or something."

With that Marco left the room, making a stop by the toilet to arrange the promised conditions and to take the chemicals used for cleaning. He did the same in the bathroom and went to put them under the sink in the kitchen. After that Marco spent next couple of hours installing a spare lock on the kitchen door to make sure that all that danger stayed inside, and that Ace stayed outside.

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**It is set as complete but will be updated when I feel like writing something angsty and depressing. I hope you liked it.**

**Thanks for reading.**  
**Hope to see you sooner rather than later,**

**~Rhe**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sup! v(^-^)v**

**So this is one way the exams work on me - I write random stuff that is not too funny. Another way is killing zombies in android game called Dead Effect - I just keep imagining the levels are anatomy halls.**

**I remain forever grateful to lunarshores whose beta skills are unrivaled. **

**Song of the chapter: _Gomennasai_ by _t.A.T.u_**

**Disclaimer: nothing is mine and most likely will never be so this disclaimer is valid for anything I will write in this story.**

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After installing the lock on the kitchen door and checking that it actually worked, Marco spent a couple of hours pretending to read in his bedroom in an armchair that had a direct view of the writing desk. Since being paranoid was in his job description, the armchair was actually fairly hidden from sight and the observation of the writing desk was done through a pair of strategically placed mirrors.

Marco expected that food and water would be of primary interest to his guest, but for as long as he sat in his armchair, the boy did not touch either provisions or clothes. He seemed to show some interest for the toy though – after multiple hesitant touches and pokes it was finally dragged under the curtain for farther inspection. Seeing this, Marco did his best to remember what was most important to him during his first days with Oyaji. What he came up with were Stefan and a writing desk that was currently in the office of Moby Dick bar.

After deciding to google writing desks and sense of security first thing in the morning, Marco called it a day and went to bed. His last thought before he fell asleep was to hope that there wouldn't be any corpses when he woke up.

_...He couldn't see a thing: the darkness was overwhelming. He couldn't move either – his wrists and ankles were bound so tight it hurt each time he tried to shift. Even if he wasn't bound there wasn't much room for him to take a more comfortable position. He was lying there for what felt like hours, never changing his curled up pose and inhaling air that smelled like car fumes and his own unwashed body. He had no idea when was the last time he got to clean himself... or eat something. What he was sure of though was that he ate relatively recently compared to bathing. He knew he drank something yesterday... or was it day before yesterday? If so, then maybe that bread was last week?_

_While he idly tried to place his last bath in a timeline full of holes, his surroundings changed. He could hear faint voices growing louder. Finally the ones taking were extremely close – they were standing right outside wherever they were keeping him. With a bit of concentration, he could distinguish the words:_

"_Don't worry, he's in good shape. He won't run away, and he already has some experience."_

"_Is that so? Let me see him first."_

"_Zehahahaha! Of course."_

_Suddenly his eyes were assaulted by sudden light shining right into them and hurting him. Despite it he happily took a breath of fresh air, his eyes tightly shut._

"_He won't do. Brat's too old."_

"_Zehahahaha, I'll take it into consideration next time."_

_The trunk slammed shut, making him jump a little. He could open his eyes again, and he had some fresh air so the only thing lacking was room to move. Then he heard the man say:_

"_If I can't sell you this week, you're going to sleep with the fishes, zehahahaha!"Marco smiled with relief. Finally it was going to come to an end – this was the fifth customer who'd refused to buy him. Soon he'd be free... "If you think you are going to get away easy, you are wrong. Before I dispose of you, we are going to have a lot of fun, zehahahaha!"_

_He knew exactly what that meant. How could he forget? The man used to have 'a bit of fun' with him but made sure to leave him functional enough for sale. Yet he knew what 'a lot of fun' meant – he and others were forced to watch when the man had 'a lot of fun' with those he was going to dispose of. He knew exactly what would happen to him if he wasn't sold soon. He curled as tight as he could in this tight place, realising that he'd rather be sold than to be forced to have 'a lot of fun'._

_The laughter sounded again and he tried to curl tighter on himself, wishing he would be bought soon. Wishing for anything that would stop that laughter, that laughter that chilled him to the bone despite it being warm inside the trunk. He bit his hand just above the binds in hope that pain will prevent him from freaking out and using up all the new fresh air. He bit harder as that laughter drilled into his ears, imprinting on his brain..._

"_ZEHAHAHA!"_

Marco's eyes flew open, his heart hammering in his chest. That laughter was still sounding in his ears, making his body shake violently. He clasped his hands together in attempt to stop his body from convulsing. A strangled noise escaped his mouth so he bit the same place – he needed to be quiet, needed to preserve the air... The darkness was closing in on him, suffocating him...

Marco span around and slammed his free hand on the bedside table, hitting the light switch. His left hand still painfully clenched between his teeth as his right frantically searched for the phone. After finding it he didn't bother to unlock it, pressing on ICE button and choosing Oyaji's number. Soon enough his father answered, his voice heavy from sleep:

"Marco? What's wrong? Do you know what time it is?"

It took Marco a minute to force himself to release his hand and choke out:

"He... he's dead, right?"

"What? Who? What happened?" Oyaji asked, sounding more awake now.

"He's dead, right? I killed him, right?" Marco asked, clenching the phone in a vice grip.

"Oh..." Whitebeard seemed to realise what was going on. "You have nothing to worry about, son. He is gone."

"Are you sure? There was no way he could escape, right?"

"Marco, calm down. You are safe. He is not going to hurt you ever again," Oyaji said calmingly. "You are safe."

Marco felt that the panic was retreating and his body slowly stopping to shake. His breathing was calming down too, as well as his heart.

"I was a little worried when you said that your meeting with this kid reminded you of our first meeting..." Oyaji said, concern evident in his voice.

"Shit... Ace..." Marco gasped, his body going cold. He flew out of his bed, tangling in the sheets and falling on the floor. He quickly untangled himself, almost falling flat on his face and breaking his nose in the process.

He scrambled to his feet and ran to his office. The lights were on, just as he left them. Marco made his way to the writing desk and ripped the makeshift curtain away. He and Ace stared at each other with the same panicked expression as the latter cowered as far as he could under the desk.

"S... sorry..." Marco stuttered. "A... are you al... alright?"

In response, after a moment, he got a slow and hesitant nod. Marco exhaled slowly with relief. His anxious mind finally got over his panicked state and noticed that Ace was still clutching the towel. The clothes that Marco left were untouched but the toy was nowhere to be seen. Food and water weren't moved either, making him frown.

"Please change into the clothes – a wet towel won't keep you warm," Marco breathed out, closing his eyes for a moment and letting his body relax. He then suddenly took the water bottle, opened it and drank from it. His new-found (or rather recalled) understanding of the situation helped him to see what was wrong. "The water is safe. I will go and make you a bowl of plain rice, and I want you to try to eat it."

Marco put the curtain back in place with another apology and went to his room, remembering that he still had Oyaji on the phone. As expected, his father waited for him on the line, already ready to leave in case Marco needed him to.

"Is everything alright?" Oyaji asked.

"Yeah... I think I just scared him..." Marco answered, walking to the kitchen.

"He will come around, and you will help him do that. I think that he will help you too," Whitebeard said thoughtfully. "What are you going to do now?"

"Make a bowl of rice," Marco answered with a smile as he unlocked the kitchen door.

"Gurarara! That's the oldest trick there is!" Oyaji laughed, and Marco chuckled as well.

"Let's hope it works," he said.

"Worked on you, why wouldn't it work on him?"

"That's what I thought."

"Then start with just plain rice, you can add salt or sugar later when he trusts you a bit more."

"I know," Marco almost stuck out his tongue in a childish gesture but caught himself last minute.

"What did I tell you about sticking out your tongue?" Oyaji said with a chuckle. "I'm going back to bed, and I hope you'll do the same after you feed the kid. Good night," he said and hung up, not letting Marco deny his childish side. The old man knew him all too well.

He started preparing the rice, almost fighting to not to put anything in to add more taste. From experience he knew that the only thing one could do with plain rice was to choke on it but it was also a safe food – any additions to rice were easy to taste. If Ace had ever tasted just plain rice, he'll most likely know that it was safe. In case he didn't, Marco would most likely have to taste everything in front of him, just like water.

Upon his return to the office with a bowl of rice, he was pleased to find the towel outside the curtain instead of clothes. The rice itself was in a small plastic food container that Marco failed to break with his hands. In order to break a copy of this container he had to stomp hard on it, and he was sure that Ace didn't have the power to do that.

"Try... try to eat a little bit, and I'd like you to take a nap. It's bad enough that one of us can't sleep because of monsters," the last part he muttered under his nose. Marco then put the rice beside the curtain and took the towel in order to hang it up to dry in the bathroom in a moment.

Of course no answer came. The curtain remained motionless, and he wanted to lift it again to check if Ace was alright despite seeing him no more than ten minutes ago. He didn't do it though – he'd scared the kid enough as it was. With that Marco returned to his bedroom, making a small detour to the bathroom.

He tried to follow Oyaji's advice and fall asleep again but somehow it felt like the room absorbed his nightmare. Every time he closed his eyes it felt like he was back in the trunk even if he kept the lights on. After half an hour of tossing, turning, opening the window and taking a sleeping pill before he went to bed, Marco found himself gathering his blanket and pillow in his arms and going back to the office.

There he settled into a corner between two bookshelves and closed his eyes again. The corner was away from both the desk and the door so that if Ace needed to go to the bathroom he had a clear path. Marco deliberately didn't take any weapons with him despite doing it every other time he had a nightmare before. He just refused to imagine what would happen if he had another nightmare, and Ace tried to wake him up. The blond didn't think it would happen since the kid was so afraid of him, but, as selfish as it was, he didn't want to deal with the consequences of that possible scenario.

v(^-^)v

It seemed that he actually drifted asleep sometime while thinking how much he didn't want to clean up the possible mess. First thing he did was look at the desk but the picture didn't change since he last saw it.

With a soft grunt he got up, stretching his limbs. Stiffly he walked towards the desk to check if Ace ate anything. As it turned out he hadn't, and Marco frowned at that but said nothing. He took the bowl with him figuring that he should just eat that rice for breakfast. After leaving the rice on the kitchen, which was carelessly unlocked during the night, the blond went with his morning routine just like usual.

He walked around the apartment with a toothbrush in his mouth and phone in his hands, opening all the windows and checking for messages. Marco was happy to hear some brief shuffling under the desk, so he said good morning to Ace and informed him that he'll start making breakfast soon.

Oddly enough there weren't many messages on his phone. Normally he'd see up to twenty messages from his division but today there was only one message from Oyaji, saying that Marco's officially on sick leave/babysitting duty. After some hard thinking, he texted his father back asking if that sick leave extended on the paperwork. Five minutes later someone ringed on his door, and the blond saw one of his deputies smiling guiltily with a big stack of papers. Well, that answered that question.

With his mood thoroughly beaten down by the never-ending paperwork (they were criminals, for crying out loud! Why on earth would they need so many stupid reports?! The only thing they needed to keep track of was who owed them money!), Marco grumpily cooked breakfast – another bowl of rice for Ace and yesterday's rice fried with eggs for him. Stacking the food (plus a cup of coffee for him) on a tray, he went to his office in order to try to be friends with Ace and eat breakfast together.

"So I thought we could have breakfast together," Marco said awkwardly to the curtain as he put the tray on the floor. "I could tell you a bit about myself, if you'd like, or you could tell me something about yourself. Like, for example, what's your favourite food? Or what food you don't like because if you'd try to tell me that you like plain rice I wouldn't believe any of it. So, in your own interests you should tell me what you like to eat because until I know what you like, you'll keep getting that rice."

Marco started eating his own breakfast as he waited for any response.

"Are you even alive?" He waited for any kind of sign for a long moment as he quietly chewed on his breakfast. "I'm not going to make you eat, you know... Don't I know how it felt when they forced the food down your throat when you refused to eat... And when they force you to swallow that shit don't I know how you hope and you pray that you choke on it and die because that is your most painless option..." Marco looked down at the bent fork in his hand sighed. "If you don't feel like eating – you don't have to. I'll just make sure you have some food around when you do."

With the corner of his eye he saw the curtain move a little bit – just enough for Ace to take a peek at him. The blond chuckled bitterly as he leaned back on the wall and looked at the kid out of the corner of his eye.

"You don't have to think so loudly," he said. "There are three things you want to know: if you are dreaming and if not then what's the price and how long will this last until I've had enough of being nice to you? Am I close?" A thud came from underneath the desk – the kind that one heard when one accidentally hit their head on a kitchen shelf. Judging by the slight waving of the curtain Ace was close to it but when Marco asked his question he backed up, miscalculated the distance and hit some bony part of him against the desk. Remembering how Ace looked it could have been any part of his body – the kid was all skin and bones.

"Let me answer those for you – this is not a dream, there is no price, and I have no interest in you in the way you're thinking about. My interest in you would be..." Marco thought about it for a moment – the answer wasn't easy to phrase. How could one put all those conflicting emotions and thoughts in one sentence without leaving anything out? Soon enough he found his answer:

"Pride, I think. If Oyaji..." The blond choked on the word and it took him some time to force it out. "If he dies, I will most likely take charge of the family. I want to know if I can continue his legacy... Though I'd be lying if I said that that was what I was thinking of when I bought you."

Sudden realisation made Marco frown. It was right there, right in front of him. He just needed to hear it to fully understand it. Slowly, he said:

"When I bought you, I didn't see you... The person... the person I saw in that trunk wasn't you. It was me. I bought myself yesterday." Marco took a calming sigh and stared at the ceiling, feeling oddly emotional. "I bought myself yesterday," he whispered to himself.

Marco wasn't used to feeling so much. Working for what could only be described by an outsider as a crime syndicate (anything else was impossible in this city) left no room for feelings. Whatever feelings he still had were reserved for his closest family – his father and people that now were the commanders of other fourteen divisions of Whitebeard Family. Though Oyaji said that anyone bearing his mark was his child, the only people Marco considered his siblings were the commanders.

He gathered his unfinished breakfast on the tray, got up and went back to the kitchen. He needed to calm down and then start on the paperwork. For the first time in his life, Marco was happy for having a never-ending pile of documents to fill out, sign, and comment on.

* * *

**Hope you liked it because I had some issues with it before sending it to lunarshores :) **

**Thanks for all the reviews, favs and follows!**

**Hope to see you soon,**

**~Rhe. **


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